


run run away from the boys in the blue

by jessethejoyful



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M, Normal AU, Running From The Cops, SnowBaz, This was a prompt on Tumblr, Ugh, Uni AU, idk - Freeform, idk how to tag this????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 23:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16774753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessethejoyful/pseuds/jessethejoyful
Summary: From a prompt: "We're hiding from the authorities and it's very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine."





	run run away from the boys in the blue

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil short blurb! enjoy!

The rattling of the can is loud, deafening almost, in the quiet night air. My breath is a puff of steam in front of my face. 

“Baz,” I hiss, shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. “Baz! We're gonna get caught, let's just go!” 

The grin that spreads across his face, oil on water, is wicked sharp. He takes a step toward me and cants his head. “Don't worry so much, Simon,” he whispers, popping the cap off the can and shaking it a bit more. “This will be cathartic for you, I swear.”

“This is  _ illegal _ !”

He shrugs, still smirking. “Nuances.” He tries a spritz, and the paint comes out in a quick stream of color. When he flips the can in his hand and holds it out to me, I instinctively take a step back. “ _ Simon _ . Live a little.” 

I stare at him for a long moment, then turn my eyes to the walls of my father's home, the classic brick, the ivy crawling up the side. My father, who abandoned my mother and I, didn't even show up to her funeral, too busy at some function for his work. 

I take the can from Baz. 

I give it a few good shakes myself, then step closer to the wall. Baz is watching me, and I can practically hear that smirk I know he's wearing. Writing out the first letter sends a thrill down my spine, making me dizzy with adrenaline - and an almost cruel satisfaction. 

Baz doesn't say a word until I get to the last letter and step back to admire my handiwork. The word ‘WANKER’ in big, sloppy red letters blooms out from the wall. 

“Very succinct,” he says approvingly and with a nod. I roll my eyes, but I can't deny the sense of justice I'm feeling. 

That is, until a shout at the end of the alley nearly frightens me out of my skin. 

“Oi, you two!” the rough voice barks, a light flashing across the both of us. “Stop right there! Step back!”

I freeze where I am, fear and regret gripping my chest and keeping me from moving. The policeman starts toward us, brandishing his torch in front of him. 

Baz, however, clearly isn't taken with the same hesitation as me. He grabs my hand and whispers, “Run!” and suddenly we're flying down the alley, the cop shouting behind us. I make myself focus on keeping up with Baz and his damn long legs. This guy, who I met only a few hours ago at a bar, and ended up telling him my whole life story - and am now sprinting from the police with.

How did I end up here?

“Is this seat taken?” a smooth voice had asked, and I turned to see this tall dark bloke simpering down at me. His long hair was falling in cascades over half of his face, but I could see his features clearly. His beautiful, cut features. 

“I - uh -,” was about all I could manage, but this luckily didn’t deter him. He sat down on the empty bar stool and leaned toward me, under the pretense of not wanting to shout over the thumping bass. 

“What’s your name?” I blinked stupidly at him for a long moment, trying to remember if I had a name. I was only a drink in; there was no way I was drunk already.

I was just star struck.

“Simon,” I finally gasped, plucking the name out of my subconscious and thinking it must fit. 

The mysterious stranger smirked. “Simon,” he said in his posh voice, like he was trying the word out for himself. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Baz.” 

“That’s not a name,” I said, before I could stop myself. I sounded like an idiot and a jackass, but instead of getting angry, the guy -  _ Baz  _ \- laughed.

“Not quite,” he agreed, flagging down the bartender. “But it is a nickname, for a much more unfortunate name.” 

I watched as he took a sip from the drink he received. It occurred to me then to drink my own, and I took a deep gulp. I could feel the heat crawling up my neck.

“Do you come here often?” Baz asked then, leaning toward me again. “I’ve never seen you here before, but then again, I’m not here much myself.” 

We were in a seedy bar in a corner of London, tucked away from the main tourist tracks and usually filled with other students from the local uni. Tonight was no different; the music was loud, and bodies shifted all around us. It was hot, and not just because I was under close scrutiny from this gorgeous bloke.

“Not much, no,” I replied, meekly. “My friend Agatha convinced me to come out, to celebrate the end of term - but I seem to have lost her.” I looked around the room, realizing the truth of it in that moment. When had she disappeared?

“Unlucky you,” he said, somewhat sympathetic, before that wicked grin returned. “But lucky me, I think.” 

My ears must have glowed at that. “How’d’ya figure?” My voice sounded thick, even to me, but it seemed like the dumber I sounded, the more endeared Baz became. 

When he leaned in again, his lips brushed my ear. “Because that means I have you to myself, for a while, at least.” I couldn’t speak for a minute after that.

We talked for a long while, sitting close together at the bar and slowly downing drinks. We talked about anything and everything that came to our minds; I learned he attended Oxford, but was in town to visit his aunt for the holidays. I told him I attended locally, and he asked me about my studies. He told me some about his family, that his mother had died when he was young and that his dad was a piece of work, but he didn’t go far into it. I told him about my mother’s death in return - and the bitterness that came from thinking about my father must have shown on my face.

“Are you alright?” He gripped my hand, squeezing it once, and I startled. “You don’t have to tell me about this if you don’t want to -“

“Oh, I’m fine,” I hurried to say, shaking my head. “I just - when I think about my dad, I guess I get sort of grumpy.” 

Baz looked thoughtful at this. “You did look like you’d just swallowed something sour.”

I breathed out a laugh. “Yeah - he’s just such a wanker. Didn’t show to my mum’s funeral, after leaving us flat for years - then expects me to move in with him and be his perfect son.” I waved my hand, glowering again. “He occupies some minor government office, so it’s all very political. No scandals allowed.”

“Wow. He does sound bad.” I just nodded, trying to get rid of the bitter expression I was surely wearing. “Does he live around here?”

I thought about it. “We’re actually pretty near his house. He’s got one of those brick townhouses -“ 

Before I could finish my thought, Baz had tossed down an alarming wad of cash on the counter and, still gripping my hand, dragged me along with him toward the door. I was too shocked to argue, instead trying to keep myself from losing him in the throng of people crowding us. 

We made it outside, into the cold night air, and I pulled my scarf up over my nose. 

“Baz?” 

“Let’s go have some fun, Simon.”

The pounding of our feet brings me back to the present. Our current situation. The policeman is still behind us, I can hear his shouts, his heavy footfalls and even the heaviness of his breathing. He must be tiring, because it sounds like he’s getting further and further away.

Baz, on the other hand, shows no sign of tiring, or slowing down. Our hands are gripped tightly between us, and I’m staring at the back of his head in awe. We weave in and out of alleyways and cut across yards, my legs burning from trying to keep up. 

When Baz stops suddenly and drags me into a shady doorway, I let out a squeak. His hand slaps across my mouth, our bodies practically flush together as the cop’s footsteps grow louder again. I can just make out the features of his face in the half-light, concentrating fiercely as he listens. 

The cop runs right by us, but doesn’t see us, doesn’t even slow down. 

It isn’t until the sound of his steps disappear once again into the night that either of us breathes. I have no clue where we are, wasn’t paying any attention to the winding path Baz took us on. My eyes strain against the darkness, and his hand slowly lowers away from my mouth. 

“I think it’s safe now,” he whispers, his voice carrying a tinge of amusement. We’re still standing in the doorway, chests touching as we heave with tired breaths.

I’m staring at his lips as I murmur back to him. “Then why are you whispering?” 

“I don’t know. Why are you?” 

“I don’t know.” I tilt up without thinking and press my lips to his. He’s startled, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he grips my chin and pulls me in, and I lose myself in him.


End file.
